


The Voice in Your Head.

by Ivanna_Jones



Category: Futuristic - Fandom
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-10
Updated: 2016-08-10
Packaged: 2018-08-07 20:55:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7729408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ivanna_Jones/pseuds/Ivanna_Jones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The choice has come for Susanna Daily. It's Review Day. What will she see?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Voice in Your Head.

**This was even sadder than I initially thought. The bed was uncomfortable and the cold, sterile atmosphere of the room seemed to drain the little life I had left in me. Maybe it makes sense why people came here to die; it was depressing enough to welcome death.**

**I didn't take my gaze off the glass ceiling as I heard the door open. I couldn't stop looking at myself. Who was that? Who was that person above me, staring at me with empty, sad eyes, and a pale face. That skin...yes it was pale, but it used to have tones of pink and bright, peachy colors. Now that lively glow turned into a dull gleam of sickly green and gray. My hair...I reached my bony hand up to touch my hair. It was thin and brittle, with streaks of white over dark, dead gray.**

**Would this change? After this is over, will I return to what I used to be? Or is this it?**

 

> **"Susanna Iris Daily?"**
> 
> **"That's me."**

**Oh god, that voice. It was so dry and hollow...It used to have strength, confidence and power.**

 

> **"I'm sure you know what time it is."**
> 
> **"Review Day?"**
> 
> **"Yes. Do you wish to participate?"**
> 
> **"Yes."**
> 
> **"Very well. You likely know this, but the Review is when one at the end of their life is allowed to go back through their consciousness to the point of being able to remember. Therefore, it doesn't matter if you can't remember, you can still visit the memory. You cannot go back in your memories. For example, if you've gotten to the memories of your 16 year old self, you can't revisit your memories from when you were 15. You cannot interfere in your memories; they've already happened and can't be changed. You can only observe. Once you reach the end of your conscious stream, the Review will end and so will your life. You understand?"**
> 
> **"Yes."**
> 
> **"Alright. Goodbye Ms. Daily. Good luck."**

**The nurse reached over to the wall and pressed something. I didn't bother to take a closer look. Suddenly, two probes attached themselves to my temples. They were so cold, it hurt against my frail skin. Funny how this would be the last thing I physically feel.**

**I heard a loud beep. The next beep came louder; it pierced my eardrums, like the sound of a screeching bird. And the third and final beep came softly and quickly faded out. As my vision went dark, the beep sounded further and further away until there was nothing but silence and darkness.**

**What was this? This was nothingness, not my memories. Was it all a lie? Was the Review Day just a ploy to lure people into a black and void hell? What would be the gain? Before my insanity could further crawl to the forefront of my mind, a picture finally appeared before me. I saw an old living room. And by old, I mean _unbelievably_ old. It was my family's old living room, in the house I first lived in. It was without a doubt, the ugliest room in the world. We were the only ones who had carpet, furniture and a tv. Most living rooms in houses around the world at the time were completely devoid of anything. TV became implanted in each individual person so there was no longer a need to have a physical manifestation of one in the house; it was considered a waste of space. Then again, there wasn't much of anything else in the house either. A practically empty home was considered stylish and reflected the image of having wealth, a sense of cleanliness, and generally being in a higher social class. But this was back in the day when we didn't have any holograms of furniture or implanted technology in our heads. **

**Despite the time period, our house was already considered outdated when I was a child. I can still remember the tweed couch. It was scratchy and the dark color always made it look dirty. It was more a torture device than a seat.**

**That's where I was sitting. There was something in my head telling me how old I was in this memory and where I was. Obviously I was in my old house. But I also got the sense that this was my first memory, and that happened when I was 3. I knew it was a school day. I had started preschool earlier than most children, at least at the time. Nowadays, children went to 'preschool' when they are 1, the early education implemented by technology implanted within the children's brains. But in my day, we had to wait until we were able to walk, talk and function like a basic human.**

**I was already dressed, ready for school. It was early in the morning. Sometime before 8 o'clock. I sat there, staring at the screen. The news was on and like most other children, I found it unbearably boring. I wandered off the couch and crawled over to my doll that was lying on the floor a few feet away. It was my first doll. She had red hair and came with 2 dresses, but I liked it. With time, it actually became valuable, but unfortunately I didn't treat it as such.**

**Either way, I played with it for a short while before I knew something was wrong. My mother had come out of the kitchen and sat on the couch, her eyes glued to the screen in horror and disbelief. The sound of her frantic voice was muffled and distorted. She was on the phone with someone, tears welling in her eyes. I looked at the TV, still switched on to the news that had so horribly bored me earlier. Only now, there was coverage of an event that I've always been ashamed to say that I found boring and unimportant as a 3 year old. Looking back on it years later, I came to realize that it changed the very way I grew up. That it was the reason I was told to sleep with one eye open, ready for anything at any time to happen as I grew up. As a separate entity from my 3 year old self, my adult form went and sat beside my mother, who had died long ago. I looked at the screen with her. I had seen videos of this news broadcast almost a decade after this event, but I couldn't begin to imagine how my mother and the rest of the country felt over this. Just as they cut back to the scene to reveal more destruction, I heard my 3 year old self bounce out of the room, disappearing into the kitchen. And the memory disappeared for the last time.**

**The next few minutes were full of blurred, distorted pictures of my preschool and early grade school years. I remember playing with my classmates and the time the devil spawn teacher's aid screamed at us and made us sit in all the corners around the room for a good 20 minutes. I couldn't help but cry...I was all too familiar with the sound. The next memory jumped ahead to my home life as a young child. My parents sorely married because of my siblings and I and not out of any romantic feelings whatsoever. But that didn't matter to me. What did was the way my dad behaved...**

**I had read up on how the Review worked. If we came across unpleasant memories, we were able to skip them. And so I decided to skip. I watched as my young life, my childhood fast forward like a VCR tape. When I got to school, I pressed play.**

**I was 6 here.**

**Author's Note:**

> This end note will be removed when the chapter is completed.


End file.
